


Interfacing Options

by sardonicsmiley



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AI sex, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-13
Updated: 2008-06-13
Packaged: 2020-12-28 22:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonicsmiley/pseuds/sardonicsmiley
Summary: Rodney has a brief moment of clarity, where it's just him in his head, and embarrassment almost manages to rise up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. It's totally Rodney. Is anyone surprised? At all?

Zelenka is the one who finds it, but only because Rodney is off running around trying to save the universe from malevolent computer chips. However, Radek can't figure the thing out at all, beyond realizing that it's some kind of interface with the city. The hard part is, as always, left to Rodney to solve. 

The room is pure white. The interface, which Zelenka convinces everyone else to call it, is hanging down from the ceiling. It takes Rodney three hours to figure out how to turn it on, and then he has to go sleep, because he's been up for three days straight.

By the time Rodney gets back to the interface room, a week later, it's still on. It is also, still, not interfacing with any damn thing. Rodney spends hours trying to find a port on the damn thing, batting away the creeping interface arms when they curl around his wrists and arms. 

The interface arms are every size imaginable, and the larger ones writhe around him, while the small ones pull on his shirt constantly. One of them is intent on curling up against the nape of his neck, brushing back and forth through the short hairs there, and after pushing it away more times that he can count, Rodney gives up, and lets it do as it will. 

The arms get more touchy-feely the longer Rodney studies them, and he decides trying to stop them really isn't worth it. They slide back through his hair, tracing the muscles across his shoulders, and down his back, curling up in the warm curve of his elbow, sliding down the line of his veins. 

Rodney loses track of how long he's there, until his eyes start blurring, his entire aching body, and then he leans back, cracking his neck side to side and squeezing his eyes shut. When he opens them there still isn't a magical solution to his problem on the screen of any of his pads, and Rodney growls in frustration. 

He scowls up at the interface arms, three of them curling around his wrist, not squeezing, just holding. Rodney snaps at them, long since having lost any shame about talking to machines, "Okay. How do you work? I've tried everything. Give me a hint, here." 

The interface arms don't suddenly start making sense, the bastards. Rodney rubs at his forehead, wondering again why the Ancients didn't ever see fit to leave directions for how to work their crazy inventions. He braces both hands on the floor, dropping his head back, trying to ease the strain against his shoulders. 

One of the arms slides up the side of his neck, over his jaw, and Rodney rolls his eyes. He grumps, "You guys are worse than—" and then cuts off when the thing slides over the corner of his lips, and then it's moving into the hot wet, inside of his mouth. 

Rodney coughs, sputtering in surprise, trying to yank it out, and the arms around his wrist tighten, pulling. For a half second Rodney panics, thinking that he's about to die, and then there's a flash of bright white light behind his eyes. 

Rodney goes still, chasing the flare, a burst of information that's slowly making sense. Another one of the interfaces slides up over Rodney's bottom lip, curling around his tongue, and there's another flash of information, pieces of systems opening up to him. 

There's a flash of cameras, science staff going about their business, a sharp flash of the Jumper bay, the control room, the infirmary. Rodney gasps, barely feeling it as more of the tendrils trace their way across his cheeks and jaw, each bringing a new wave of information with it. 

All the information floods into his head, structural integrity and life support systems, flooded labs and the energy cells for the sub-light engines. Rodney sags, unable to concentrate on all of it, feeling a thick arm wrap around his shoulders, supporting his weight. 

And then the arms withdraw, leaving wet trails across his cheek, down his neck. Rodney hadn't realized how wide they'd stretched his mouth, until they're gone, and his jaw aches. He blinks, dizzy with all the information, now fading away, shifting his jaw from side to side, licking his lips. 

Rodney is just considering getting his arms to work again, pushing against the cradling arm around his ribs, when one of the larger interfaces drops down.

The large, white, appendage taps Rodney on the tip of his nose, sliding sideways, then down. Rodney goes cross eyed trying to look at it, swallowing heavily, not sure if he likes where this is going. He blurts, when the thing brushes against his bottom lip, "Woah! Stop!"

Everything goes still around him, the warm press of metal against his bottom lip. Rodney's heart is racing, and he takes a careful breath, taking the opportunity to look at his surroundings. The arms have all converged on him, hovering around him, in something that looks disturbingly like anticipation. 

There's no press of information in Rodney's brain now. He's not sure why skin to skin contact doesn't work. It might be something to do with the thinner skin inside his mouth. He's no doctor, and he doubts that they'd be able to figure it out anyway. 

Rodney considers his options. Go tell someone else about this. Or explore the city before anyone else can. Figure this out. And well, that makes the decision easy. Rodney takes one last bracing breath, and then exhales roughly, "Okay, okay, let's do this, then." 

One of the tendrils wraps around the back of Rodney's head, support, Rodney realizes belatedly. And then the tip of the one against his lip is moving, pushing up and in, parting his lips. Rodney swallows convulsively, and then his eyes roll back, because there's a rush of _everything_. 

Rodney's hands jerk, his fingers clenching and unclenching, feeling the stretch of girth between his lips, moving against his tongue. There's so much information scrolling through his head that he can't track it. He doesn't even try. He lets it tumble him, everything swallowing him up and swelling inside his head. 

When the interface pushes against the back of his throat, a surprisingly gentle press, Rodney coughs, and then relaxes. He isn't sure if that's because he meant to, or because he can read the commands now, in here, and he's a part of it, part of the machine, part of the city. 

The tendril doesn't push far down his throat, just lingers there for a moment, before sliding back. Rodney breathes desperately through his nose. Each press deeper down his throat brings a further scope to his vision, fading when the tendril withdraws. Rodney groans in the protests that he can't voice, wanting to be able to see all of it, to swim in it without having to constantly have it pulled away.

There's the press of a second tendril beside the first. They twine around each other in Rodney's mouth. He shivers, feeling other questing touches down his arms, moving under his shirt. The tendrils seem fascinated by his nipples, curling around them and pushing and Rodney grunts, wishing he could form words, because he has an idea what they're trying to do. 

He thinks, as loudly as he can, _I don't open there_, and to his surprise the tendrils all freeze for a moment. And then they move on, sliding down his chest, sketching each inch of his skin, obviously searching. They demonstrate fascination with his belly button as well, until Rodney shifts and thinks irritable thoughts at them. 

Rodney doesn't think about what's going to happen next until they're already sliding beneath the waistband of his pants. He jerks, surprise momentarily overriding the beauty of what he's seeing. The interface arms all pause, one down his throat, and Rodney's body vibrates, information stretching all around him. 

The arm down his throat withdraws, and it's only then that Rodney realizes how badly he'd needed to breathe. He shudders, feeling lightheaded, and there's the brush of a half dozen different tendrils over his cock. Rodney groans, his cock jerking, and feels the interface arms hesitate again, this time with a swell of curiosity that he can taste-smell-see.

The touches don't stop, staying light and questing, tracing every inch of his cock, and when they slide over the head Rodney jerks, screaming _nonono_ inside his head because he doesn't want them to try to stick anything in that particular part of his anatomy. 

Nothing attempts to force its way inside him there, and Rodney lets out a little shuddery breath of relief, which distracts him from noticing that there are arms exploring down the back of his pants as well. And then there are warm lines of pressure sliding across his skin, and Rodney's eyes snap open. 

Rodney groans around the pressure down his throat, the arms moving down, cupping him, pulling him open. Different tendrils curl around his balls, moving carefully around the curly hair there. And then a thin tendril is pushing into him, and Rodney shudders, because this rush of information is thicker, sharper, than any had been before. 

Rodney barely notices his pants being pulled down, a dozen points of pressure dragging them down his thighs, while other arms pull and tug on his shoestrings. Rodney has a brief moment of clarity, where it's just him in his head, and embarrassment almost manages to rise up. 

And then there's another tendril breaching his body, opening him wider, dumping information straight into Rodney's head. His legs jerk, his whole body twitches, and he feels more points of pressure, wrapping around his skin, holding him in place. 

Another tendril slides into him, and Rodney wonders where the hell the lube is coming from, because there should be some serious burning going on by this point. And like a miracle, the information is just there, secretions and adaptations and the changes they've made to fit his body chemistry for this. 

Each of the tendrils is moving individually, all of them, and there are dozens, the systems in his head helpfully supply the amount as thirty-eight, moving over him. Rodney can read what each of them is doing, but that's not important, not really, and so he pushes past it, back into the larger system. So much of it is open to him now, and the missing areas, the gray spaces that he can't quite reach, frustrate him. 

There's the pressure of another interface pushing into him, all of them moving deep inside him. Rodney's hard, but that's almost not a consideration, though the sharp edge of arousal, the want and need, send him spiraling faster and faster through the systems. 

He closes his eyes, taking it all in, pretending like he can understand it. There are tendrils wrapped around his knees, pulling them open, up, and Rodney shivers at the stretch of it. The change in position means that his cock is rubbing against his stomach, and each jolt of pressure makes him dizzier and needier. 

The stretch is getting insane, almost painful even with the slow preparation. He groans, his throat raw from the constant shift of warm metal down his throat, again and again. His tongue catches on his teeth every now and again, surprisingly sharp. 

He feels completely pulled open, filled up with the pressure of the entire city. And then the tendrils in his ass are all sliding out, leaving him shaking, shuddering at the sudden emptiness, the quiet in his head where all the noise had been. It's disturbing, disconcerting, makes him jerk his limbs as best he can with his present restraints. 

When there's a wider push of pressure, huge and blunt against him, Rodney's eyes flutter. He groans, the sound muffled around the two tendrils still in his mouth, trading in and out of his throat. When the large interface pushes into him, Rodney shudders, his skin breaking out in a sweat, tingling, burning.

The slow slide into his body takes so long that he thinks he might lose his mind. He can feel the city, inside him, completely contained in his skin. He feels like he might be burning, his eyes open huge, his entire body strung tight between the tendrils down his throat, and one up his ass. 

It feels like there's an arch of electricity up and down his spine, turning it to molten lead, to roughly the same heat as the center of the Earth. The interface slides into him further, so deep, so big, and Rodney's eyes slide out of focus, making room for the greater vision behind his eyes. 

Rodney moves through the city, fast as quicksilver, everything open and obvious. He loses all track of time, aware of his body only by the rising pleasure building in his bones. He can feel himself making sounds, but he can't hear them. There are a thousand things for him to see, a million for him to touch, a billion for him to remember. 

Rodney doesn't know how long the interface holds him, how long his body manages to balance on the edge before it can't anymore. Rodney comes shaking, body going completely limp, brain shutting off. It's enough to throw him out of the system, to disrupt his connection. 

The concerns of his physical body flood back in, hunger and exhaustion, and Rodney sends them along the system. There's a small wave of something almost like regret back to him, but he feels his shoulders settled down to the floor, tendrils sliding off of his skin, slowly, gently. 

His mouth feels stretched and raw when the tendrils down his throat move out. He turns his head to the side, breathing hard, blinking rapidly. The last interface still connected to him slides out slowly, inch by inch by inch, and Rodney groans, long and drawn out. He has no idea how far the thing had been in him.

And then it's just not anymore. Rodney lays sprawled out on the ground, his body trembling, skin jumping and tingling. He can feel the tendrils moving, pulling his pants back up, tugging his shoes on, tying them. There's something very weird about that, but Rodney is far too out of it to care.

When they're done, he's dressed again, and he almost believes that none of it happened, except all of the information is still in his head. It's not being updated now, and he can already feel himself losing some of it. He holds on to what he has, grabbing his radio up off the floor and thumbing it on. He calls Zelenka on the radio, ordering him to bring food to the labs, because they have lots of work to do.


	2. Snippet

John's first thought, when the door slides open, is that the room is attacking Rodney. That's what it looks like, at first glance, all the mechanical arms focused on the other man, wrapped around his arms and legs and chest, holding him in the air.

But that's just until John blinks, and his brain processes what he's seeing.

There's no violence in this...whatever this is. The smooth, silvery arms are cradling Rodney, more than anything, sliding constantly across his skin, shifting and adjusting their hold, over and over again. John stares, trying to make sense of the pile of clothes below Rodney's suspended body, the shine of sweat across the other man's skin, the way his eyes are staring sightlessly up at the ceiling and—

And the fact that, really, this looks like nothing so much as something out of some kind of sci-fi porn. Rodney makes a little sound as the thick, mechanical, thing in his mouth shifts and slides deeper. John can see his fingers twitch, curl up against his palms where his arms are stretched out to the sides. Rodney's knees are pulled up to his chest, thin silver bands wrapped around his thighs and calves, thicker arms around his knees and ankles, holding him open.

Holding him open for the thick arm that's pushing into his ass, a long slow slide in that makes John's breath hitch.

Fuck. He shouldn't be watching this. He shouldn't be letting this happen, much less just standing here catching flies while the city does whatever the hell it's doing to Rodney. But Rodney isn't struggling, his spine arching up, another groan muffled in his throat, his dick hard and tight up against his stomach.

One of the thinner interface arms curls around Rodney's cock, sliding up and down, and John groans, slapping a hand up over his mouth to muffle the sound. But the interface pays him no mind at all, completely wrapped around Rodney, buried in him.

It gives John the courage to step into the room, locking the door behind him because he doesn't want anyone else to see this. Because it would be embarrassing for Rodney. Because they might make it stop if they knew, and John doesn't want them to.

There are no beeps or alarms or any sign he's noticed at all. John circles slowly, unable to take his gaze off of Rodney, the way his body twists and arches, the soft little whimpers he makes sometimes, the line of sweat sliding down from his temple.

He wants to reach out and touch but doesn't want to disturb what's happening. His hands stay balled up into fists as he watches a line of spit slide out of the corner of Rodney's stretched, reddened mouth. He stuffs his hands into his pockets when he pauses, watching the thick interface push in and out of Rodney's ass, shiny and slick with lube.

John's so hard it hurts, and he has no idea what to do about it. He finds himself being drawn steadily closer, like he's in a deteriorating orbit, drawn towards Rodney and the interface by irresistible force. Some of the arms brush against him as he moves closer, but the touches are absent, there and gone, accidental. They're ignoring him.

John finds himself standing beside Rodney, Rodney's chest at shoulder level, his expression open and awestruck, his eyes still blank, like his mind is somewhere else. John finds himself holding his breath, reaching out even though he knows, knows that he shouldn't.

He can't help it. Rodney's skin is warm, hot really. John drags his fingertips across Rodney's collarbone, down his chest, rubbing his thumb over one of Rodney's nipples and Rodney arches up into the touch, whimpering in his throat, the sound muffled around the interface in his mouth.

John swallows heavily, squeezing his own dick with his other hand, teasing Rodney's nipples, back and forth between them until Rodney is moaning constantly, until John is sure he'd be begging if he could use his mouth.

This is wrong, and he has no right, but he can't stop himself, dragging his knuckles down Rodney's stomach, to his cock, wondering how the hell Rodney hasn't come yet. Or maybe he already has, because there's come drying on Rodney's stomach, and John wonders just how long he's been held here, completely and totally taken.

John gasps, "Jesus," rubbing the heel of his hand hard over his dick, dizzy with want and desire. When he slides his fingers across the head of Rodney's cock, the smaller interfaces that had been stroking it retreat, moving down the crease of his thigh, back towards his ass, stretching him even wider.

Rodney's dick is slick with whatever the interface is using as lube, and John's hand slides easily over the heated skin. He keeps his strokes slow and lazy, in time with the in and out piston of the interface in Rodney's ass. He thinks he could do this, watch this, forever.

But nothing this good can go on forever. John feels Rodney's cock twitch, and speeds up his rhythm, dragging his gaze up and down Rodney's body because he wants to see everything, memorize everything, and then Rodney is coming all over John's fingers.

And when John looks up, Rodney is blinking, eyes still a little unfocused as the interface lowers him gently to the ground. Rodney makes a harsh, gasping sound when the interface slides out of his mouth, panting, one hand jerkily coming up to rub at his jaw.

And then Rodney blinks, eyes going wide when he blurts, "John?"


End file.
